He did not see how pale grew the beautiful face of his young wife, nor how her jeweled hands trembled as they held the letter before her eyes. She read on, with a sinking heart: DEAR UNCLE: This is to tell you that mamma died yesterday, although I do not suppose you will care much, as you are so happy with the wife who crowded poor mamma and me out of your heart. She died suddenly, of heart disease, from which she suffered so long, and I am left penniless and friendless, for she spent everything she had before she died. We would have been more saving, but you always let us think I would have your money, and I think the news of your marriage hastened her death, she was so disappointed. Now what am I to do? I have no money, as you know, and I am not fitted to work for my living. Has your wife turned your heart against me, or are you willing to take mamma’s place and support me in the style I’ve been used to? I suppose I’ll be married, some time, although poor girls don’t stand much chance. I don’t think Norman would care for poverty, though, if only he would come to his senses in other things. I am here in your house still. We were glad you left us that when you married so suddenly and strangely. I’ve promised the servants you will pay their wages. I hope you will come home and settle with the people mamma owed. I charged the funeral expenses to you. I knew you wouldn’t mind. Please answer at once, and let me know what to expect from you. Your unhappy niece, JULIETTE IVES. “So she is my husband’s niece? What a fatality!” Pansy murmured to herself, fighting hard against the weakness and faintness stealing over her. “And Norman Wylde has not married her yet,” her thoughts ran on, with a sort of bitter triumph. She sat silent, crushing the black-bordered sheet in her hands, her heart beating slowly and heavily in her breast, a chill presentiment of evil stealing over her mind. “Is it possible that I shall have to come in contact again with that proud, cruel girl? Oh, if I had only known this I should never have married Colonel Falconer,” she thought bitterly. Colonel Falconer turned around suddenly from the window. “Well, my dear, what do you think of my niece’s letter?” he asked. Pansy’s face flamed and her eyes flashed. “I think it is impertinent, selfish, and heartless,” she answered spiritedly. He sighed, for that was his own impression of the letter, although he hated to acknowledge it, even to himself. What hurt him most was her half-contemptuous allusions to his wife, and the fact that she had disdained to send a single kindly message to the woman who was, by marriage, at least, her near relative. “Juliette is a spoiled child. She has been pampered and indulged until she considers no one but herself,” he said uneasily. “That is easy to be seen,” she answered, with a touch of scorn.